Never did human countenance exhibit marks of greater rage than Desborough’s at that moment.  His eyes seemed about to start from their sockets—­the large veins of his neck and brow swelled almost to bursting, and while his lips were compressed with violence, his nervous fingers played, as with convulsive anxiety to clutch themselves around the throat of the officer; every thing, in short, marked the effort it cost him to restrain himself within such bounds as his natural cunning and prudence dictated.  Still, he neither spoke nor moved.

“Descend, sir, instantly!” repeated Gerald, “or, by Heaven, I will have you thrown in without further ceremony —­descend this moment!”

The settler advanced, placed one foot upon the ladder, then turned his eye steadfastly upon the officer.  Every one present shuddered to behold its expression—­it was that of fierce, inextinguishable hatred.

“By hell, you will pay me one day or t’other for this, I reckon,” he uttered, in a hoarse and fearful whisper—­ “every dog has his day—­it will be Jeremiah Desborough’s turn next.”

“What! do you presume to threaten, villain?” vociferated Gerald, now excited beyond all bounds:  “here men, gag me this fellow—­tie him neck and heels, and throw him into the hold, as you would a bag of ballast.”

Several men, with Sambo at their head, advanced for the purpose of executing the command of their officer, when the eldest daughter of the Governor, who had witnessed the whole scene, suddenly approached the latter, and interceded warmly for a repeal of the punishment.  Miss Montgomerie, also, who had been a silent observer, glanced significantly towards the settler.  What her look implied, no one was quick enough to detect; but its effect on the Yankee was evident—­for, without uttering another syllable, or waiting to be again directed, he moved slowly and sullenly down the steps that led to his place of confinement.

Whatever the impressions produced upon the minds of the several spectators by this incident, they were not expressed.  No comment was made, nor was further allusion had to the settler.  Other topics of conversation were introduced, and it was not until the officers, having bid them a final and cordial adieu, had again taken to their boats, on their way back to Detroit, that the ladies quitted the deck for the cabin which had been prepared for them.

The short voyage down the lake was performed without incident.  From the moment of the departure of the officers, an air of dulness and abstraction, originating, in a great degree, in the unpleasantness of separation—­ anticipated and past—­pervaded the little party.  Sensitive and amiable as were the daughters of the American Governor, it was not to be supposed that they parted without regret from men in whose society they had recently passed so many agreeable hours, and for two of whom they had insensibly formed preferences.  Not, however, that that parting was to be considered final, for both Molineux and Villiers had promised to avail themselves of the first days of peace, to procure leave of absence, and revisit them in their native country.  The feeling of disappointment acknowledged by the sisters, was much more perceptible in Gerald Grantham and Miss Montgomerie, both of whom became more thoughtful and abstracted, as the period of separation drew nearer.